Beautiful Sights
by niennavalier
Summary: Bucky does his best to set up a date. Things don't start that well (in his opinion) but, by the end of the evening, it couldn't have gone better. Fluffy Stucky Oneshot.


**A/N: A little oneshot I wrote as a present for a friend. Pure, unabashed fluff, (and Bucky's POV) and my first foray into Stucky! Hope all you like it! Oh, and FYI, the rating is just for swearing; no violence or smut or anything.**

 **Disclaimer: I obviously own nothing, if that needs to be said.**

* * *

Bucky knew he'd hit a patch of ridiculously good luck, especially after all the Winter Soldier shit HYDRA'd put him through. Really, if it weren't for the stubbornness of the little punk, where'd he be? Frozen in one of those damn cryo-tubes, some mindless puppet?

Shit. Probably.

But he wasn't. Thank God for that.

Instead, he was lounging around like a lazy ass, watching some old film Steve claimed they'd seen before the war. Before their lives went to hell and back. Frankly, though, he didn't have the slightest clue what the name of it was, much less what the damned thing was about. He was a little distracted by the big, dumb blonde sitting next to him, blue eyes lighting up at whatever was on the screen (which Bucky couldn't give any less shits about).

Sure enough, Steve noticed, concern creasing his forehead. "Buck? Everything okay?"

And that'd been it. A second was all it took. They were on each other moving in unison, lips searching and desperate and _perfect_ in ways Bucky didn't even remember being possible.

Goddammit, why'd HYDRA have to take this part away from him?

It was like they were thirteen again, hiding in their darkened rooms, places where society could go to hell, for all they cared. Or they were back in the War, in the middle of hell itself, sneaking moments to themselves, away from all the prying eyes of the world. Back when things were a hell of a lot more innocent.

Shit, that was ironic.

Still, they broke apart eventually, Bucky about to laugh at the shock in the face before him, and trying his hardest not to. That'd probably be insensitive, or something like that.

He laughed anyway; he knew he was, and always would be, a little shit, after all.

"Jesus, Steve, getting' rusty. That your first kiss since '44?"

"I'm ninety-five, not dead."

"Yeah, thank god for that," and he dove in again, slower and softer this time, yet smirking all the while.

* * *

Six months'd passed since then, and neither of them could've been happier with the way things were turning out. Normal people probably celebrated that sorta thing – they were probably 'bout as far from normal as Stark was from poor. Not like that meant Bucky didn't wanna do something. He owed Steve a lot for all the shit he'd put him through. Something was in order.

Yeah, true, Steve'd always been the romantic one – heart and hands of an artist and all that. Bucky'd always been a bit more direct when it came to this kinda thing, but it didn't mean he wasn't capable of it.

Hell no.

The punk was gonna get everything he deserved and denied. And nothing was gonna change that.

…Except maybe Steve's coming back from a mission a little more bruised and battered than either of them would've preferred. So plans were set a back a few days. Bucky ultimately didn't mind though. Teasing "Steve the Invalid" made up for all the times the "the most pure, most perfect American boy" (what bullshit; if the press only knew) did the same thing to him – because, no, he wasn't getting hurt all the time by doing something stupid, he swore.

Plus, there was something… innocent, or something along those lines, about it. Like the war had never really happened, and all hell hadn't broken loose on their lives. Like they were still just Steve and Bucky, two kids from Brooklyn. Like they weren't both broken versions of their former selves.

Dammit, that was nice to look back at, though. All those soft and tender moments, both past and present – Bucky liked them, and Steve sure as hell did, too.

Regardless, Bucky was starting to get antsy – the whole sitting around thing wasn't something he much enjoyed, especially with knowing there was a lot more they _could_ be doing – so he couldn't be happier when the doctors clearing his punk to get back outside, so long as there was no "rigorous activity". Admittedly, that been a disappointment, because he'd had plans, dammit!

But then, he hated waiting even more. Adjustments could be made, he guessed.

And it ended up being cliché as hell. Dinner. The art museum. Steve'd liked it, though – huge sap. The food wasn't high class, 'cause when the hell had they ever known high class before moving in with Stark? There was just something nostalgic about eating the same stuff they had as kids. The art museum – well, Bucky'd done his best there; didn't go picking that weird modern shit. Wasn't really Steve's style, in his opinion, at least.

Ultimately, Steve was happy, and he knew he should be a little proud of that. But he was kicking himself the entire time. Because seriously, he could've done so much better than the dumb romance tropes. What the hell had he been thinking when he'd planned this? Had he been thinking at all?

Dammit, Barnes. Idiot.

At the very least, there was one part of the night he could really be proud of, 'cause, shit, this was cool. Knowing Stark had its advantages, after all, huge ass as he was.

Renting out the entire observation deck of the Empire State Building, for one. They couldn't ever have managed something like that back in the day – even now, he had doubts, Mr. "Star Spangled Man With a Plan" in tow or not.

One of the perks of dealing with Stark's obnoxious personality on a daily basis. And it was well-deserved.

The night air was cool, maybe biting to most people – not that they could really tell anymore, the way they were now. Steve leaned against the railing, blue eyes bright, reflecting the tiny orbs of flickering light dotting the pitch dark skyline of midnight New York. His haze hardly wavered, sweeping over the sights, something of an old childlike wonder there, too. One Bucky'd not seen since God-knew-when.

Giving Steve this view, this bit of wonder, it made him happy in a way he'd thought he'd forgotten. After the whole shit-storm had died down the way it had, he'd never thought this kinda thing would've been possible. Not for him. He sure as hell didn't deserve it, at least, for everything he'd done, whether his fault or not. Still, just for tonight, he didn't give a shit what he honestly deserved.

Because, despite the view Steve had, overlooking the city, Bucky had an even better one: the center of his world truly at peace, for once, since waking up from the ice. Nothing could ever beat that.

"Buck, this – it's beautiful."

"Yeah," Bucky found himself nodding subconsciously, "really is."

Steve turned suddenly, smile and eye-roll lightening his features as his own gaze landed on Bucky. "We didn't come here so you could stare at me, you know."

"Hey, mind your own business, Rogers. I can do as I please. Besides, the view's pretty nice over here."

"Ain't too bad from this end either."

"Damn right, punk." Bucky smirked, stepping closer, confidence in his step.

"Jerk."

With both hands, Bucky cupped the cheeks of his love gently, grinning as he pulled him closer, eyes half-lidded with content. "You know you love me though." And he pulled the little punk in, kissing him lightly, lip curved upward in bliss.

The whole world could go to hell, or aliens could come down and destroy the city, but they couldn't give a damn. This was their time. Not Captain America and the Winter Soldier. Not two men out of time. Not even Avengers.

Just Steve and Bucky. Just the way they wanted it.


End file.
